I went to Starbucks last night with my good friend Cindy (Cindy, look -- your name has once more been immortalized in the cyber-pages of the internet... :)). And we were talking about my adorable little pseudo-nephew Jordan -- a math-whiz who used to be in love with Eeyore and called me "Sasa" when he was a toddler (that was way too cute -- he never should've learned to pronounce those L's...). He's in second grade now, and one of his assignments was to write about his favorite and least favorite subjects. He wrote that his favorite was math, and his least favorite was "language." And when Cindy tried to clarify that a little bit (language arts, perhaps?) he pointed out the fact that his textbook was simply called "Language."
And when we thought about it, Cindy and I could both remember having a subject called "language" when we were in elementary school. Not any particular language, mind you. Just plain old "language." Not English, not reading comprehension, not spelling -- just good ol' no-nonsense language. But what IS that, exactly? If it's not English, or reading, or spelling, what exactly IS language?? Apparently, as children, we thought nothing of it. After all, when you're seven years old and your teacher says it's time for language, you pretty much shrug, pull out your book with "Language" emblazoned across the cover, and assume all these adults know what they're talking about. And then once you ARE one of those adults, you wonder what kind of brilliant minds got together and decided to name an elementary school subject "language." I think they should at least make it slightly more descriptive -- perhaps "Non-Specific Ambiguous Linguistic-Type Language Subject."
I also had a chance to speak with my lawyer friend Faisal yesterday, mainly because I happen to have the same name as his paralegal and he accidentally called me to ask where he could find the Penskie file. (Okay, I made that part up... but why is it that any time there's a "file" of any sort in a television show, it's always called "the Penskie file"? As in, "I've been working on the Penskie file." Or, "Gladys! Bring me the Penskie file!" I mean, really -- has anyone else noticed this? Who, exactly, ARE these Penskies, and why are there so many files about them??) Anyway, I'm starting to think my name is a bit too common -- there seem to be Lisas walking around everywhere. I think perhaps Faisal should take a cue from the people at Starbucks and just change me to "No Name" in his phone... it would save me a lot of work (I mean, I couldn't find that Penskie file ANYWHERE...).
Faisal is one of those lawyers who completely defies the "lawyer" stereotype -- he's an amazingly nice, respectful, intelligent, thoughtful person, and I hope he always stays that way. (I think he probably will... :)) I had the unfortunate experience of working at a law firm several years ago, because I needed the money (and yes, I say that with a certain amount of shame -- "I swear I only did it because I needed the money!"). The day I started that job, lawyer jokes were only slightly amusing to me -- 100 lawyers at the bottom of the ocean, a good start? Okay, I guess that's sorta funny. A couple weeks later, I was rolling on the floor in laughter -- oh, a GOOD START!! Yes, I get it now!!
My main duties consisted of managing the closed file room, daily courthouse runs with an extremely scary 70-something-year-old courier named Red, and, when things got busy, helping the other office peons with copying, faxing, mail runs, etc. I'm not sure anyone would believe me if I said that making 20 copies of a complicated legal file is part art and part science -- but honestly, it's something that's so easy to completely ruin, and if you're not extremely organized and focused, the entire thing ends up being a big pile of random paper. So imagine, if you will, an industrial-sized copy machine whirring busily... on top of this machine are precise, logical, sequential piles of finished copies. Pristine, perfectly ordered -- if you set them next to the originals, you'd never know the difference. Now imagine a man walking into the room with a single sheet of paper. I'll call him B. Douglas. No, that's too much information. Brad D. No, no, I'll just call him Doug Bradlas. He walks up to my neat, orderly, copy-machine landscape, and like some sort of horrible natural disaster, sweeps an arm across the perfect piles of paper to move them out of his way. He then proceeds to make ONE COPY and leaves without so much as an "I'm sorry for screwing up an hour's worth of work."
Occurrences like that were common... so common that they eventually had me seeking refuge in the quiet corner of the closed file room, which, fortunately, was a place no one else ever wanted to go. Sometimes I'd be lucky and Red wouldn't find me for the 4 o'clock courthouse run, so he'd go without me. They were always afraid Red would file something in the wrong office at the courthouse, so he was supposed to be driving and I was supposed to be filing. Somehow, the thought of Red taking a wrong turn into oncoming traffic never seemed to bother anyone. File something in the wrong place, and that's the end of the universe. But make a left turn from the right lane directly in front of an angry pick-up driver, and that's FINE. I'm really not sure why they wouldn't simply "allow" Red to retire...
And I believe, without a doubt, the most over-used acronym at the law firm was "ASAP." Actually, I don't even think it's supposed to be an acronym -- it's an abbreviation, as in, A-S-A-P. But at the law firm, it was A-SAP. And everything, by the way, was A-SAP. Someone would walk into the copy center, throw a file on the counter, growl, "I need this ASAP!" and then run out before we could so much as catch a glimpse of their face. And of course we'd make sure it was done ASAP -- we'd place it on the bottom of the pile with all the other ASAPs.
Not that the law firm was completely without its amusing moments -- I can't tell you how many times I'd be hanging out in the copy center when an attorney would come in, walk up to a copy machine, stare at it for a good 60 seconds, and finally say, "um, how do you start this thing?" At which time I'd point to the giant, bright green, three-inch square button labeled "START." (These are people who went to law school... they passed bar exams, for goodness' sake... in all that time, no one ever explained to them the concept of a start button???) Ah well... needless to say, the day I quit that job was one of the happiest days of my life. Any time I think of the time I spent there, I'm STILL glad I don't work there anymore.
And just to reiterate -- my friend Faisal: awesome. Lots of other lawyers I've never met: probably perfectly nice, okay kinda people. Attorneys I happened to work with: losers. I'm about 99.99% certain that Faisal knows how to operate a copy machine. And what's more, if he noticed someone else making piles and piles of copies, he'd probably ASK politely if he could make a copy (as opposed to assuming the universe revolves around him). He'd probably also ask politely if he needed some sort of task accomplished in a timely manner. He might even manage to say the words "as soon as possible, please" and maybe dole out a "thank you" when the task was completed.
Perhaps those attorneys I worked with would have benefited from a few more hours of "language" lessons. Please and thank you are certainly elementary subjects...
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